Jack Pearadin and Doug Nelsen found a 1.73-carat diamond after nearly a year of searching the park's field.
I might be the last American male who will admit that he doesn't like beer. Yep, even your favorite beer. Even the craftiest craft beer, made by monks in an abbey high in the mountains. I suspect I'm what's known as a "supertaster," which means that all flavors are particularly intense to me. I have particular trouble with beverages containing alcohol. The best wine you can imagine tastes to me like grape-flavored turpentine. Meanwhile, all beer tastes like goat piss—or what I'd imagine goat piss would taste like, if I'd ever tasted it.
All that said, I've finally found a porch sittin' booze for me, in the form of Coney Island Hard Root Beer. Yes, I know hard soda concoctions have the reputation of being the Playskool My First Hangover Kit. But I like it. Though some hard root beers I've tried predictably dance across the tongue like Billy Dee Williams' mustache sweat, Coney Island Root Beer tastes like, well, root beer. I suspect they may be buying their concentrate off of Barq's, because it tastes EXACTLY like that, only with a bit of a beery twang that goes away after the first few swallows. Believe me: given my delicate palate, if I can drink it by the pail with no problems, it should taste like heaven to your average person, especially if you don't mind your drunk coming in a sweet wrapper. If you like unleaded root beer, give it a try.
As the title suggests, That Dog’s “Retreat from the Sun” could be construed as pretty antithetical to “summer fun,” but I’d dare anyone to stick to that literal interpretation after digging the surfy, ultra-pop vibes on this album. Producer Brad Wood put such a thick coat of polish on these tracks that you barely notice the lyrical despair in the title track’s rearview mirror: “you may run like a bitch in heat, but it's fun to sometimes try to retreat from the sun, cause it's awful lonely where I'm coming from.” No less giggly than 1995’s “Totally Crushed Out!” but definitely less driven by Petra Haden’s artsy violin lines (which have shown up on albums from Beck, Green Day, Weezer, and Cibo Matto’s Yuka Honda), “Retreat from the Sun” is an absolute pop confection. It’s sonic summer candy, stuffed with “oohs” and “la-la-las,” crunchy guitars, and tales of crushes that begin with mutual t-shirt admiration. It even explores the often-ignored subject of Platonic love—from 1997 until today, I’ve been rocking out to the track “I’m Gonna See You,” thinking it was a sweet song about grown-up love, about falling out of Total Infatuation Phase with a lover and still being thrilled about what’s left, and about learning to adore the feeling of having a mundane routine with another human being: “I'm gonna see you in the morning, I'm gonna see you when you're uptight, I'm gonna see you when you're boring.” Apparently, though, it’s singer-songwriter Anna Waronker’s “love letter to the band” (with whom she was initially unsure she wanted to create this album), and that bit of knowledge makes me dig it even more. Here’s the beautiful thing about “Retreat from the Sun:” If you listen to this track and don’t like it, stop. You won’t like the rest of the album. I promise. Save perhaps the dominatrix routine in “Gagged and Tied,” there aren’t really any surprises, just 13 tracks of synth and sunshine.
I endured several years with Stacy Hurst as my city councilperson. I was not important…